"Don't kill me!"
"Haa... haa..."
Viscount Luton jolted awake from his nightmare, bolting upright and panting violently.
He anxiously felt at his neck, letting out a long breath of relief only after confirming that the guillotine blade had not severed it.
Yet soon enough, the bloody memory surged back into his mind—the head with eyes wide in death, those frenzied faces.
Immediately, he retched again.
"Public trials..."
"They're mad... Everyone has gone mad..."
Viscount Luton shook his head repeatedly, unable to stop muttering to himself.
With great effort, he looked around. Beneath him lay a hard stone floor; to his left were cold iron bars, and the walls were splattered with grime and blood.
He recognized this place.
It was the dungeon of Stravburg, used to confine criminals who broke the law or vagrants from the streets.
Never before had a noble of the Northlands been kept here.
Still, compared to his elders, Luton was already fortunate—at least his head remained on his shoulders.
At that thought, dread gripped him once more.
Could he... could he also be dragged out for one of those so-called "public trials"?
Remembering that nightmarish scene again, Viscount Luton's heart hammered against his ribs.
He panted raggedly, his head twitching from side to side.
"No..."
"I have to get out of this damned place!"
"The Northlands... the Northlands have become that evil dragon's lair! Everyone has gone insane!"
Viscount Luton gnashed his teeth.
Then footsteps approached. He immediately clamped his hand over his mouth, played dead, and squinted through a tiny slit of an eye to peek out.
Out in the corridor, illuminated by the flickering candlelight, several tiefling guards armed with spears marched past on patrol.
Only after confirming the guards had moved on did Viscount Luton carefully open his eyes, cursing under his breath with venom.
"Curse it all..."
"With so many patrols, how on earth am I supposed to get out?"
Suddenly, the shadows in the corner of the cell seemed to ripple, and a low, unfamiliar voice drifted out from within.
"Do you want to escape?"
"Who are you?"
Like a drowning man catching a straw, Luton forgot his fear, terrified only that the voice might vanish.
After all, this might be his sole hope of fleeing this place.
He wanted to live!
"Quick—quick, get me out of here!" Viscount Luton urged frantically.
The shadows wavered and twisted, finally coalescing into a man cloaked in a black robe. The man offered Luton a courteous bow.
"Viscount Luton Sig, I am an operative from the Holy Fadlan Empire. His Majesty Wilhelm insists that the Northland nobility are the rightful rulers of Anzeta."
"O-of course we are!"
"Unfortunately, Duke Leo Bosque's scions have all met with misfortune, and you seem to qualify as his nephew."
"Oh?"
Viscount Luton's eyes lit up.
The black-robed man gripped Luton's hand, silently pulling him into the Plane of Shadow, and whispered into his ear:
"His Majesty Wilhelm will make you the titular Grand Duke of the Northlands to promote the history of Anzeta in the south and draw people's attention to the threat of this evil dragon."
"Alright... alright, I agree!"
...
"What many may not know is that this 'Duke Luton' heavily romanticized his past; his true identity was... a male prostitute.
"How could a mere idle viscount suddenly transform into a so-called 'Duke of the Northlands'?
"To put it bluntly, Duke Luton sold his backside in the Kingdom of Thrace region. His harrowing escape to the south was, in reality, nothing more than serving as His Majesty Wilhelm's catamite."
— An anonymous historian, *Miscellaneous Records of the Secret History of Fiansor*
...
Northwind Keep, the Steel Dragonwing Palace.
Cassius sprawled lazily upon his throne, gazing indifferently at the distant magical projection and exhaling a plume of sulfurous, scalding vapor.
"Do you see now?"
"This is what struggle truly is."
"We and those humans are not of the same species. Thus, it is all too easy for the Northland nobles to bewitch them into mounting fierce resistance for the so-called 'common interests of the Scanians.'"
"What we must do is divide them from within—separate the Northland nobility from the commoners, hold seemingly just trials, and disguise our kingdom as a righteous arbiter. That way, they will lose every shred of reverence for the Northland aristocracy."
"And when that happens... our rule will become far more secure."
Trump dropped to one knee at once, wearing an expression of boundless veneration. "Master, your wisdom in governance humbles me. Only under your guidance can such a grand blueprint be realized!"
"Awo?"
Tinia tilted her head, eyes filled with bewilderment.
Soon, however, she cast all of it from her mind. Excitedly, she sidled up and affectionately rubbed her neck against the red dragon's tail.
*Thwack!*
"Awoooo—!"
With a pitiful yowl, the white dragon was swatted over ten meters away by that massive tail, tumbling across the ground several times before coming to a stop.
Yet moments later, Tinia scrambled up full of vigor, wagging her tail in sheer excitement.
Cassius cast a sidelong glance at her.
It seemed expecting this airheaded white dragon to ever become a competent lord was truly an exercise in futility.
Trump, on the other hand, appeared to have mastered the art completely, requiring no further instruction from him. After all, aside from extolling the magnificent might of the Red Dragon, the *Kingdom Daily* was filled with praises for Lord Trump's farsighted vision and selfless devotion.
These days, Trump had even begun paying attention to his personal image, disguising the necklace of skulls around his neck as a gold chain.
Cassius shifted slightly, shaking the dust from his scales, and asked offhandedly, "Where is the report you were going to deliver? Present it."
"Yes, Master!"
Trump excitedly produced a magic crystal and donned his oversized, gold-rimmed spectacles.
Immediately, a colossal magical projection over ten meters wide unrolled in the main hall. Across the top shone several bold, gleaming words:
*Five-Year Development Plan for the Northlands*
Beneath the header was an extraordinarily detailed map displaying every city, mineral vein, and estate, covering the territories of all the Northland states and the present domain of the Kingdom of Cinders.
Beside each marker were detailed future targets, such as: "Construct 15 food processing plants," "Mine at least 300,000 silver coins annually," "Build a comprehensive railway network"...
"You have indeed achieved a magnificent victory. To bask in your glory is the greatest honor for every living creature in the Great Anzetta Waste."
"While you slept, we set to work drafting this plan, spanning the entirety of Anzeta's territories. We eagerly await your critique and guidance."
Trump's voice was exceptionally impassioned, and even the "gold chain" around his thick neck trembled slightly with his excitement.
"I am very pleased."
Cassius gave a slight nod, a faint smile gracing his lips.
In the blink of an eye, ten years had passed. This ogre—a model worker if ever there was one—had truly lived up to his expectations. At the very least, Cassius was spared from worrying over mundane trivia.
Chapter 347